Where the Sun Leads
by ICMezzo
Summary: In the ancient near east, small Israelite villages dot the plains, and survival requires every person to play a part. But in this world of foreordained roles and careful routine, the sudden presence of a stranger changes everything one man has ever known


**Age of Edward Contest **

**Title: Where the Sun Leads**

Pen name: ICMezzo

Type of Edward: Ancient Israelite Edward

_A/N: In the ancient near east, small early Israelite villages dot the plains of the Levant, and survival requires every person to play his or her prescribed part. But in this world of foreordained roles and careful routine, the sudden presence of a stranger manages to change everything one man has ever known. (AH, EPOV, slash)_

_Forgive any historical inaccuracies or anachronisms that have slipped through, but I can only imagine the look on my prim and proper (if viciously liberal) grad school advisor's face if I asked her to proof this for me. _

_Endless thanks to my lovely betas and prereaders: Missyfits, SweetandSaltyFF, ArcadianMaggie, FarDareisMai2, and TwilightMundi. I'm so grateful for your time, assistance, and thoughtful critique._

_Disclaimer: All copyrights, trademarked items, or recognizable characters, plots, etc., mentioned herein belong to their respective owners. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without express authorization._

* * *

><p><strong>Prologue. <strong>

First born. Eldest son.

It was a position of stability and honor, and of certain inheritance.

It was also one of deep responsibility.

It meant managing the family land holdings and multiplying its property and livestock. It meant representing the household within the greater community, and negotiating trades and marriages. And it meant ensuring the lineage of the family would continue on for yet another generation.

For all of these reasons, I did not envy my oldest brother.

Amitz' future was stable, certain. His bride was chosen before he could walk, and the wedding date determined before she could stand. He'd married her when she'd come of age and she'd officially joined our family in the process. To my parents' delight, their small children now roamed about the house.

And all of this made my brother happy.

It should have made _me _jealous.

My own future was unsure—a frightening concept in a harsh world such as ours. Survival of the family required each member to fulfill his or her role, working with their hands for the good of the household.

But what of those who had no role? Those sons who would receive no land because the property could be divided no further?

Their future was uncertain.

_My _future was uncertain.

It was _glorious. _

****~oOo~****

**Part 1. **

I sat on the hilltop one warm afternoon, my reed flute to my lips as I watched over our grazing sheep and goats, playing a song my father, Cha'arel, had taught me long ago.

Had our village been much larger or far closer to a city, I might have been able to make my way as a musician, playing for those of wealth or status. At least I had a few options; I could join the military or work for the priests at a local religious shrine, though truthfully, I was interested in neither.

Fortunately, I'd had the opportunity to learn to write from an elder in our community, and scribes could generally earn enough in one way or another to survive. I still had one more summer to stay with our sheep, a few more months to decide exactly what direction to take. After that, Amitz' oldest child would take care of the animals and I'd be off to do... something.

When I completed my tune, I began a new one, brighter, more cheerful, in celebration of the beautiful spring day.

I was halfway through when I spotted him, a figure on a far hilltop, seemingly stooped under the weight of his belongings. I tucked my pipe into my bag and stood. Cupping my hands to my mouth, I called out in greeting to the man, hoping the sound would reach him despite the light breeze and the occasional bleating of the sheep.

It did. I saw the man look up, and he held out in hand, as if to greet me in turn . . . before promptly collapsing on the ground.

Gasping, I raced toward him—down my hill, between the sheep that grazed in the valley, and up again, to where he lay sprawled on the earth. When I finally reached him, I found him unmoving, and although he was breathing, I was unable to rouse him.

Even from across the hills I could see he looked different; I'd never known anyone with hair in wheat colored waves. Close up, the differences were even more pronounced. His nose, the shape of his chin and brow, they were foreign to me. _He_ was foreign.

Still, I didn't hesitate. Collapsed at my feet, he was clearly in need of help. I had to get him home to my mother who had the medicinal herbs and prayers that could heal him.

I picked him up and hurried home as fast as I could, struggling under the man's weight, heavy in my arms.

My mother gasped as I entered the house, immediately setting aside the cloth she was mending and getting to her feet to gather the plants she'd need from our garden. In the meantime she motioned for me to place him on my sleeping mat.

I did so as gently as I could, despite my weary muscles.

"Get some water?" she requested, returning to the room. "Cold water first, but place some near the fire to heat as well."

Nodding, I went for the extra water in our storage jars, still quite full from the recent rains. As I did so, I heard my mother instructing Amitz' wife to take charge of the evening meal so that my brother and father would be able to eat when they returned after their long hours in the fields, typical of the planting season.

"Prepare more than usual," my mother told her, "We have a guest tonight."

When I returned, I found my mother kneeling beside the man, his muscled chest bare as she placed her poultices on his skin. I looked on as she worked. He was flushed, perspiration beading on his brow, but his lungs sounded healthy enough.

"He'll recover?" I asked softly.

My mother paused to pat my leg before draping a damp cloth over the man's forehead. "I believe he will. Perhaps even in time for dinner."

"Good," I said, watching her rise and head toward the main room of our small house.

I studied the man with the wheat colored hair, laying with his head on my meager bedding. "What is your story?" I murmured, reaching toward his shoulder and running my finger lightly over his fevered skin. "What is your tale?"

The soft sound of breathing was his only response.

**~oOo~**

The man did not wake in time for dinner. Perhaps it was best; there were mixed opinions voiced regarding his presence. It was my father who quieted all dissent, regaling us with the meaning of kindness and hospitality, regardless of the man's origin.

It was later, as the evening was winding to a close, that I heard the first sounds of stirring from the man.

I walked over to where he lay in time to see his eyes flicker open and dart around the room. He gasped and reached for his belongings, which rested near his side.

"It's okay, you're welcome here," I told him in a calming voice, offering my hand in greeting even as I was caught off guard by the color of his light eyes, a bright blue I'd never before seen. My family, and even the others in my village, all had brown eyes of varying shades, nothing like the color of the sky blinking back at me.

Even though I knew to expect it, my heart dropped a bit when he replied in an unfamiliar tongue as he took my hand in return. Sadly, I shook my head to indicate I couldn't understand him. He frowned but let me help him to sit up, and I handed him some water to drink.

He grasped the offering and drank it quickly enough that I brought him more, in addition to a bit of the couscous and lentils we'd had for dinner. He accepted the food, but before eating looked up at me and reached for my arm.

"_Todah," _he said with a heavily accented tongue. _Thank you._

Surprised, I looked at him and found a slight smile gracing his face. I did not know his language, but evidently, he knew at least a little of mine. I nodded and smiled back. "Eat," I told him.

He nodded back then practically devoured the food, making me wonder when he'd last eaten. I debated whether to wake my mother or father, both of whom had already gone to sleep in our room upstairs. When the man started shivering again, the decision was made for me; I roused my mother who came quickly to his side after gathering her various balms.

Once he finished his meal, my mother eased him back onto the sleeping mat and rubbed additional medicines onto his neck and throat, exchanging a few soft words with him as I put away the remainder of the food.

At one point I heard my mother say my name, and glanced over in time to see the man gesture to her. "I'm Eshmeya." She spoke softly. "That is Edvard."

"Kaspar," he replied, pointing to himself.

She smiled and patted his head. "Rest, Kaspar."

_Kaspar. _I said the odd name in my head. The syllables were coarse against each other when nothing about the man himself seemed harsh. I tried again. _Kaspar. _Perhaps my own name sounded just as strange to him.

I hurried to finish with the cleaning up.

"We'll need to keep him warm," my mother said when I returned to their sides. "He'll need to stay here tonight, close to the fire."

"He can have my mat," I said quickly. "And my cloak." I went to retrieve it for him to use as a blanket against the cool night, also grabbing Amitz' raggedy old cloak that he'd outgrown years ago as I needed something to use for myself.

My mother draped my heavy cloak over him and stood. He blinked sleepily in the soft light of our oil lamps.

"_Laila tov,_ my son," she murmured as she left the room. "Goodnight, Kaspar."

With my brother's old cloak in my hands, I sat back against the nearest wall, pulling my knees to my chest and wrapping the cloak around me before extinguishing the last lamp in the room. The coals from the fire provided the barest amount of light.

Glancing at Kaspar, I found him watching me, his light eyes bright against the darkness.

"_Todah,_" he said again, his voice rough with sleep.

"You're welcome," I whispered back and closed my eyes to the night.

**~oOo~**

When I next opened my eyes, I could see the soft light of the new dawn through the small window.

Kaspar's bed was empty.

My cloak rested neatly at one end, and his belongings were gone, indicating he'd left during the night. I stood quickly, knowing that my mother had probably been awake for hours already, preparing a light breakfast for everyone before they scattered to the fields and hillsides. Sure enough, I found her assembling the olives, yogurt, and pita bread.

"Kaspar's bed is empty," I told her.

"I imagine that's because he's behind the house," she replied. "He wants to thank us, so he is making a little something to add to our breakfast. I expect he'll be back shortly."

"Oh." I was puzzled, but secretly very pleased he hadn't slipped away. Still, if he was well enough to assist with breakfast, he probably wouldn't be staying much beyond the meal.

I could hear several other family members stirring in the next room. Everyone would awaken soon to go about their normal daily routines. Amitz and Cha'arel would go to the fields. I'd take the sheep and goats to the hills to graze, and Amitz' wife would stay back to assist my mother with the meals and managing the children.

The hills where the sheep grazed were too far away for me to return home for a midday meal, so I began gathering the food I'd take with me for the day, wrapping it in cloth and placing it in my shoulder bag. Just as I was finishing, I heard my mother calling to me.

"Make sure you take enough for both of you," she instructed me.

I looked up, confused.

"Kaspar will be joining you today. I think he should stay another day while he recovers—it may simply have been that he was exhausted and quite dehydrated from his travels. He agreed, but insisted on helping in some way. I told him that I thought you might welcome the company?"

I looked away to hide the unexpected heat that rose to my cheeks. "It would be nice to have someone to talk to," I replied after a moment, unsure why I felt slightly uncomfortable admitting it. Of course, it wasn't as though conversation would be easy. I couldn't understand the language he spoke, but I had to admit I'd appreciate the companionship nonetheless. "I'll pack another meal then."

"Good. Then gather everyone for breakfast? Your father will want to get an early start with the planting."

"Sure," I agreed as I finished packing the extra food for Kaspar's lunch.

Kaspar was understandably quiet during breakfast, though he seemed to be listening intently and he looked much healthier. He also delighted everyone with his contribution—a mix of items he had with him in his bag—dates and almonds and spices I didn't recognize, all of which he mixed together with honey and then added to the yogurt. It was delicious and I secretly stashed the leftovers in my bag to take with us for our midday meal.

Soon enough we were on our way, and though we didn't talk as we walked the well worn path, the silence wasn't uncomfortable. Words were unnecessary for enjoying the day, I decided. Once we reached our destination, however, and the sheep and goats were accounted for, I found myself bursting with questions.

_Who are you? Where are you from? What language do you speak and how do you know my own? How did you get sick? Where were you headed? _

Slowly, in a halting tongue, and with many starts and stops, Kaspar told me his story.

He had been a member of the Persian military for tactical reasons; he could negotiate for the military with his knowledge of many languages. And while he didn't know my language well because it wasn't widely spoken, he did know a few words that he'd picked up in his travels.

Unfortunately, the Persian military had marched through town after town, destroying people and their homes even after Kaspar had convinced the local people to surrender peacefully to avoid a fight. He refused to continue when, time after time, he witnessed the other soldiers killing defenseless women and children. He deserted in the dark of night, slipping away and hiding until the soldiers had moved on.

Since then, he wandered across foreign lands, staying alive by the frequent rains of the winter season and occasional kindness he'd encountered along the way. He knew that home was to the northeast but he wasn't even sure that he should return. The government was unlikely to look favorably on his military defection, and his family would be similarly dishonored. So Kaspar traded in his uniform and weaponry for a tunic and foodstuffs, and then he walked on with no real destination in mind.

Much of his food ran out over the winter, though his lack of water was an even bigger problem. By the time he'd heard the sound of my flute, he was so dehydrated and weakened he'd become delirious, and in desperate need of aid. He'd forever be in our debt for assisting him, he said. Not everyone was kind enough to take in a foreigner.

Relaying his story took the length of the day, but even if the words were slow to come together, the conversation was far more fulfilling than any I'd ever had with our goats. I found myself chuckling over Kaspar's frustration when he couldn't remember words he sought, and he couldn't hold back his own laughter at my inability to learn the words he tried to teach me. Not that it was my fault—his words sounded far too similar to my ears and remembering the slight differences proved beyond me, especially after we'd drunk our fill from our wineskins.

When we returned home that evening, I relayed a few of Kaspar's stories and my mother told a few of her own from her days growing up in a nearby village. Later, after Amitz' children were asleep in my mother's arms and my father could no longer keep his own eyes open, everyone set about retiring for the night. But when Kaspar noticed me heading back to the wall with Amitz' cloak once again, he stopped me.

"This is your bed?" he asked, gesturing to the sleeping mat.

"Yes," I admitted. "But I'm warm enough here with the cloak."

He looked doubtful and stood up. "It is your bed."

I shook my head. "Keep it. Please. You are our guest."

He looked again at the mat on the floor before sitting down on the far side of it and pulling my cloak over him as a blanket. "Lie here," he said, gesturing to the space on the mat beside him.

The thought of being closer to the dying fire was tempting and Kaspar's offer seemed genuine, so after only a moment's hesitation, I accepted his offer and joined him on the mat, spreading my cloak over me as I lay down. The warmth from the coals and his body off by my side was enough to make me quickly forget the chill of the night.

"_Todah_," I said, my voice hushed in the darkness. _Thank you._

"_Laila-tov,_" he whispered back as I blew out the last lamplight and we were plunged into darkness.

****~oOo~****

**Part 2.**

I awoke to the sound of heavy rains pelting the roof and the sight of a muted sunrise off in the distance. The sheep would take care of themselves for the day; even Cha'arel and Amitz would stay in from the fields until the worst of the weather passed.

Kaspar was once again awake before me, and stood frowning out at the wet, windy world.

When he looked over and caught me watching him, I spoke up. "You could stay another day." It was needless for him to travel in this weather and the following day would surely bring dry sunshine again.

He looked thoughtful.

Eshmeya entered the room, carrying some raisin bread that she distributed to each of us.

"Young man, you are staying here today," she informed Kaspar as she handed him the bread.

He looked sheepish but hopeful at her words.

"Please," she said more gently. "Stay."

He nodded and I couldn't help but grin in response as I tore off chunks of my own bread, swallowing them down.

While I knew my mother would put us to work that day, it would also be somewhat relaxed, and there was no need to rush as we sat around and took care of small chores. I spent time repairing my leather sandals and grinding grain with Kaspar.

Sometime in the afternoon, when the rain had lightened considerably, another man from our village came by looking for me.

"Will you record a trade for me?" he asked when my mother showed him inside.

"Of course," I agreed, gathering the clay and my stylus, and we sat down to document his exchange with a neighbor as Kaspar looked on, seemingly intrigued.

After the man left, tucking a few coins into my hand as he did so, Kaspar spoke up. "You write?"

"Yes, well..." I cleared my throat. "I've got to make a way for myself somehow. There isn't enough land for me to stay here. Amitz will take the land, and his sons will be old enough to help with the animals by next year."

He nodded in understanding before quietly turning back to his work.

When it came time for bed that night, I hesitated again, unsure where to sleep, but Kaspar squeezed to one side of the sleeping mat once more in a silent offer to share. I joined him with my own blanket yet again after blowing out the last lamplight.

Sometime after, far later than I expected Kaspar to still be awake, he spoke into the darkness.

"I wish you could teach me."

I rolled to face him, just able to make out his face, his blond hair and bright eyes, my cloak pulled up to his chin.

"Teach you?"

"To write," he clarified.

"You don't know how?" Very few people knew how to read, but with Kaspar's linguistic background, I had assumed otherwise.

"No, I speak many languages, but never learned to write."

I bit my lip. It made sense that he'd want to learn; it would be a valuable skill for him. But it wasn't something that could be learned in a day. "It would take a long time. Weeks or more."

He looked down at the ground and cleared his throat. "Right."

And then I remembered it wasn't as though he had anywhere in particular he needed to be. My brain suddenly raced as I considered the possibilities before us. "So, if time isn't an issue, why couldn't I teach you? We could do it while we watch the sheep and goats during the day. And maybe you could teach me your language too."

"I would need somewhere to live. Your family has already been too kind," he said after a moment.

I began to insist otherwise, but he quickly cut me off. "No, not unless there is a way for me to contribute," he said. "And not only grinding grain when it rains."

I smiled, certain I'd feel the same way if I were him. Still, it seemed there must be something Kaspar could do to earn his stay. "Let's talk to my father and mother tomorrow," I suggested. "Perhaps they'll have an idea."

I watched him blink against the darkness. "Okay," he said, a soft smile turning up the corner of his mouth.

He was quiet for several minutes, so I settled the cloak snugly around me and tried my best to fall asleep. Just before I drifted off, I heard his soft whisper.

"_Todah."_

**~oOo~**

Kaspar stayed.

In the mornings he remained back at our house, assisting with the repair and enlargement of our stable.

The afternoons were spent on the hillside, clay tablets in hand, as he taught me Persian and I taught him how to write. As the days grew warmer he also managed to acquire a few possessions of his own—a more suitable tunic, leather sandals, a cloak, and his own sleeping mat.

The woven sleeping mat proved most helpful as spring turned to summer and the sun continued to bake everything in its reach long into the evening. On the hottest nights, we abandoned the house altogether, choosing instead to remain on the hillsides where summer breezes could reach our overheated skin.

As Kaspar became fluent, conversation flowed naturally between us. But even more, I appreciated his willingness to be silent as he observed the world, especially during the nights when we would lay out under the stars, watching them rise and set, only to return and follow their silent paths again the following evening.

On a few nights, though, after we'd drunk a bit too much wine, we would compare our stories of the figures in the skies—hunters and lions and serpents and queens—laughing when they were so very different and even more so when they were alike.

As for the days, they seemed to speed by. I couldn't help but think of how the scorching sun seemed to race to fall into its bed in the mountains each evening.

I might have voiced these thoughts to Kaspar, but he lay dozing in some nearby shade, and while he may have been an early riser in the mornings, I'd learned that waking him from a nap was something to be avoided at all costs. Instead, I studied his sleeping profile, lost in thought about how his presence had subtly changed things for us.

Storm clouds blew in shortly thereafter, moving more quickly than I expected. I felt the first droplets of rain and went to wake Kaspar when I saw the sky flash in the distance.

I pulled him to his feet as a low rumble of thunder could be heard off in the direction of our house. "Come with me. I usually go up to a little cave in the cliffs when there's lightning since we won't make it all the way home before the storm arrives."

Kaspar grumbled and rubbed at his eyes but nodded. "All right," he said, moving to follow me.

"There's one thing I have to do first," I said, making my way over to the animals. I quickly found the brown and black spotted goat that I needed and hefted him up over my shoulders. "Don't laugh," I told Kaspar, rolling my eyes.

He just shook his head in response and followed me up the hill toward the cave, glancing at the goat on occasion and looking highly amused. We hurried, but even moving as fast as we could, we were caught in the sudden downpour, leaving us completely soaked by the time we reached the small hollowed area in the cliff face. It wasn't as though I was able to run particularly quickly with the goat over my shoulders.

Once we arrived, I put the animal down, ignoring the baleful look it gave me as it darted nervously into the shelter. I ran my hands through my soaking wet hair, trying to shake off the excess water. I squeezed and twisted my tunic as well, before giving up and pulling it over my head, setting it on a rock to dry as I'd always done in the past. Kaspar followed my example and stretched his own garments out as well.

Standing at the entrance, I watched the rain water the parched hillside as the thunder rolled around us.

"Why did you bring the goat?" Kaspar asked, coming up behind me.

I laughed. "He's very nervous."

He wrinkled his nose. "You smell like wet goat."

I snorted. "Yeah, well you _look_ like a wet goat."

He huffed in response. "I do not," he said, but I found myself grinning when I noticed him immediately run his fingers through his drenched curls before tucking it behind his ears. My smile died promptly, however, when I noticed the new beads of water that dripped onto his bared chest in the process. I watched as one slowly found a path down over his chest and abdomen until it reached the top of his undergarment.

The goat bleated sharply and I jumped, feeling my face flush as I looked up and realized Kaspar had caught me staring at him.

"I...um...The goat's name is 'Zev'," I finally said, mostly because I had to say _something._

Kaspar raised an eyebrow. "Why don't you sit down? You're more nervous than the goat."

I glanced over at the animal and watched it pace. "You should see him when he's left alone during storms. Faints dead over."

Kaspar laughed and motioned to a large rocky outcropping. "Sit."

I did, giving him room to sit down beside me. "C'mere Zev," I said, and patted the animal's back when it came over. "Zev doesn't like storms. Amitz didn't either when he was younger, so he always hugged the goat and hid during storms. I think the goat picked up on his nerves. Now if we aren't around, he scares himself so badly he just faints."

"Amitz?" Kaspar joked.

"Nah, the goat," I laughed.

He grinned. "Are you afraid too?"

"Me? No, I think storms are all right. As long as I'm not caught out in the fields when one arrives."

Kaspar hummed in response. "I like them, though when I was traveling it wasn't always easy to stay dry."

"Did you like traveling?"

"In some ways." Kaspar looked at the ground, so I decided not to press.

"Have you decided what you'll do next year?" he asked eventually.

"Not exactly," I admitted. "I hope that maybe there is a town where I can find work as a scribe."

"I think you can," he said. "I was able to pick up a few small jobs as a translator when I was making my way around after I left the army."

"So I won't starve?" I joked.

"No," he said, understanding the concern I hid behind the lighthearted question. "But you'd do well to learn other languages yourself, to increase the number of jobs you can do for people. It's the same for me—knowing how to write a little will help me, but I'm not a scribe like you, so I can't always take all of the jobs I'm offered either."

I bit my lip, realizing how much I _didn't_ know, and wondered how someone like myself would make it in a city or town, but there simply wasn't enough work in smaller villages. It was also immediately obvious that Kaspar's and my skills were complementary, and between the two of us, there were few jobs we wouldn't be able to do. I wanted to mention this to Kaspar, but it seemed best to bite my tongue when I saw him frowning as he looked out at the storm.

Kaspar chose that moment to stand and wander over to the mouth of the cave. He faced away from me, and I found myself studying the musculature of his shoulders and back until I felt the former warmth returning to my cheeks. Sighing, I reached out to pat Zev, and ended up scratching the rough fur of his back as he looked at me with his big brown eyes.

"The lightning has moved on," Kaspar commented. "And the rain has eased."

I got up to look outside. He was right. Wandering out into the light drizzle, I looked up into the clouds. The warm droplets were welcome against my face unlike the earlier sheets of drenching rain. Kaspar followed, stepping beside me and resting his hand against my back. "You'll figure out what you're meant to do," he murmured.

I looked at him, with his light blue eyes, his lashes clumped together and his waves of hair messy from the rain. "Thanks," I said softly.

He dropped his hand and moved to walk away, but I found myself reaching for him. "Wait...I..."

Kaspar studied my face as I held onto the hard muscle of his upper arm but suddenly lost entirely my ability to speak.

"I...sorry," I said, releasing him. "I don't know..."

Trailing off, I heard him release a ragged breath. "It's okay."

Lightning suddenly struck a little too closely, startling us both, and immediately following I heard a surprised bleat and then a soft thunk. I cringed. "I think Zev just fainted."

Kaspar snorted and I couldn't help but laugh at the face he made. "C'mon, let's see if we can get him up. I'm sure we should go check on the rest of the flock as soon as the storm is gone for good."

"Sure," he said agreeably, heading back to the cave, shaking his head.

I followed behind him, thankful Kaspar was willing to overlook my odd behavior. The truth was I didn't know what I wanted, but I was extremely aware that I wanted _something. _And I was becoming more and more certain that Kaspar was a part of it.

**~oOo~**

As the close of the summer approached along with the cooler harvest season, Kaspar completed his work at our house. I drew out his education as long as I could, attempting to delay his departure. The thought of him leaving made me sad. I genuinely liked him and the new flavors he introduced into my life. Instead of spending my time playing my flute to the sheep, I found myself laughing as I worked and learning from a man who was smarter than I'd ever be, even if I was supposed to be the teacher.

And while I'm certain we both understood the time was fast approaching for him to move on, he never mentioned it aloud. I suspected it was easier for both of us to ignore the shortening days and the changes that certainly lay ahead.

One late summer day, Kaspar went to watch the livestock in my stead so that I could assist a neighbor in writing out a marriage contract. When I finally arrived at the hillside, l found him asleep in the grass, on his back with his head on his arms. As I approached, I noted that his hair had lightened even further by the summer sun and he was tanned in a way I never seemed to be, despite my darker features.

It was then I realized that Kaspar no longer seemed foreign to me. Instead, he was simply beautiful, and in a way that pretty Amitz' wife had never been.

As I looked at him with this new awareness, he cracked open his eyes and, shielding them from the sun with one of his hands, used the other to gesture at the grass beside him.

I drew in a breath, jarred slightly by my longing to interpret the invitation as something more, even though I knew it to be the casual offer it always was from Kaspar. I fell down beside him in the grass, ignoring the twist in my gut.

I taught Kaspar nothing that afternoon, nor he me. We watched the passing clouds and listened to the bleating sheep and the bright songs of the birds, the back of his hand nearly, but not quite, touching the back of mine the entire time.

It took all of my strength not to close the distance between us.

A similar situation presented itself again only a few weeks later—it was early autumn by then—when a few villagers negotiated a land division that subsequently required documentation.

This time, however, when I approached Kaspar on the hillside, he wasn't sleeping.

His eyes were closed and he lay on his back, but his hand moved beneath his tunic in a way that set the back of my neck on fire.

I stood, frozen, unable to turn away as longing began to curl in my stomach.

I felt like I couldn't breathe, but I must have made some noise because he paused and slowly looked over in my direction. When he focused on me, he yanked his hand out from under his tunic and sat up quickly.

I swallowed. "It's...it's okay," I croaked. "We all...we all do it."

He groaned and fell back into the grass, covering his eyes with his hands.

"Really..." I said, my cheeks hot. "It's okay."

Kaspar turned onto his side, studying me. Feeling vulnerable, I managed to take a step toward him. "Really," I said again, as though I could convey in that single word thoughts that I was barely able to accept myself.

He looked at me for a moment before he spoke. "Come here," he said, his voice low.

I did as he asked, stepping closer while looking anywhere but at his eyes, at his hand that rested across his stomach, his lips...

"Sit down?"

I drew in a breath, before nodding and falling to my knees beside him, certain my heart was beating loudly enough for both of us to hear it.

Kaspar's face was reddened and his forehead damp from the sun, but when he slowly slid his hand down once again and under his tunic, I stared unabashedly. And when his hand began slowly moving again beneath the light fabric, it was easily the most erotic thing I'd ever witnessed.

I groaned and felt myself begin to harden when I heard the sounds he made, that private slip of skin against skin that every man instinctively recognizes.

Lying down on my side to face him, I watched how his hand moved, kept moving, slowly, so slowly under his tunic. I watched the shape of his mouth, parted slightly for harsh breaths. I watched the blue sky echoed in his eyes as they studied my own face.

Unable to resist any longer, I reached beneath my own garments and took myself in my hand, groaning as I matched his tortuously slow rhythm and watching him as he watched me. When I could stand it no longer, I sped up, tightening my grasp and eventually succumbing to the waves of pleasure that wracked my body. Grunting, I yanked up my tunic in time to empty myself onto the ground below, and then watched as Kaspar did the same a minute later.

Strangely, I wanted to kiss him. I ached to do so.

Yet I couldn't, didn't dare.

Perhaps he knew anyway. We didn't speak to each other afterward, or during the walk back to my house, or at dinner or any other time until late that evening, just before bed when he examined my face for a moment before blowing out the lamp and plunging us into darkness.

He never said what he was looking for; he merely murmured his customary goodnight before rolling over on his mat and closing his eyes to sleep.

I studied the back of his head for answers long into the night.

The next morning Kaspar's mat was empty as usual, but when I went outside, I found him speaking with my mother, his belongings wrapped up in his cloak and hoisted over his shoulder.

My whole body felt hollow when I realized what was happening.

He was leaving us.

****~oOo~****

**Part 3.**

Kaspar thanked my parents profusely for their hospitality. He grasped my brother's wrist in a gesture of friendship, offered a compliment to his wife, and ruffled the hair on their children's heads.

He then nodded once to me, issued a perfunctory goodbye, and set off. He never even said where he was headed.

My stomach twisted painfully as I saw his figure fade into the distance, the sun rising above him in the east.

Wordlessly, I threw a chunk of bread in my bag and left in the opposite direction toward my hillside, _our _hillside. The memory of the afternoon before, as he lay before me in the grass, looking into my eyes as he touched himself, haunted me every step of the way.

By the time I reached my destination, I was furious, and I spent the majority of the morning throwing rocks at trees and yelling at our goats for daring to act as though the day wasn't any different than the one before. When it became lunch time I was reminded anew that he wouldn't be joining me this afternoon as he had in those past.

Kaspar was gone.

Without explanation. Without any indication that I'd meant anything at all to him.

Gone.

I didn't go home again until after dusk, when the empty pit in my stomach demanded sustenance and my hollow heart longed for the comfort. I found my mother awake and waiting for me by our fire. She pulled me into her arms and held me tightly before handing me a still-warm bowl of the stew that she'd made for dinner. I accepted it gratefully and she stayed as I ate, staring into the fire right along with me as I finished my food.

Taking the empty bowl from my hands, she squeezed my shoulder and reminded me that a new tomorrow always waited on the other side of the night, and murmured that she too was sorry to see Kaspar leave. I nodded and accepted a kiss on my forehead before she bid me goodnight.

Sleep did not come easily. I'd become too used to the sounds of Kaspar's soft rhythmic breathing next to me, and a desperate loneliness settled over me when I realized I'd better get used to sleeping without it. I tossed and turned through the long, unsettled night.

**~oOo~**

The next day passed, and everything in it seemed muted and dulled. Resigning myself to the monotony I used to accept without question, I once again spent the endless hours on the hillside with the sheep and goats as my only companions.

Eventually I decided to use the time to figure out what I would do the following spring when it was time to leave home. Heading to the nearest religious site seemed the most secure choice; there was always work to be had by scribes. But after hearing of some of Kaspar's adventures, I longed to see other parts of the countryside and to try my hand at working in one of the cities I'd only ever dreamed of seeing in person. The thought of going alone was scary, though, and I couldn't help but imagine how such a journey would have been exciting instead of terrifying, with Kaspar at my side.

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I tried to focus. It was my decision and my journey, and I could handle it alone. With my ability to write and my new language skills—I'd picked up at least a few of Kaspar's words—I was confident I could earn enough so I wouldn't go hungry. And thankfully, readying myself for my departure would keep me busy during the lonely winter months ahead.

That evening I was working up the courage to tell my parents my decision to leave our village entirely, when I unexpectedly heard my name called in the distance.

I recognized the voice instantly—it shot straight through my heart.

_Kaspar._

I immediately got to my feet and headed to the front of our house. He was running toward us and panting heavily, obviously having run quite a distance. I dashed out to meet him.

"Eshmeya. Cha'arel. Amitz. Get them!" he gasped out.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

He cut me off. "Go, get them. Please. _Hurry._"

I nodded and ran back to our house, gathering everyone together as Kaspar entered a few steps behind me, nearly collapsing on the floor. My mother handed him a cup of water as he caught his breath.

"They're coming," he finally managed to say. "Not my unit, but another from the Persian military. They're headed this way. You must leave."

He paused to drink and catch his breath as we gaped at each other in horror.

"Even if your village surrenders, they kill and rape and destroy everything in their way. Persia is intent on taking over the entire land. You must leave. They'll be here by tomorrow night. I encountered them about a day's march from here," he explained. "You need to pack what you can. Do you have somewhere you can go?"

My father spoke up. "We'll leave at first light. We can take shelter in the caves beyond the hillsides until they pass through. We'll need to pack everything we can carry before then, and the journey will take much of the day tomorrow with the children. I'll go now and warn the others in the village."

"Wait," I spoke up. "Kaspar and I can go tell everyone. You're needed here."

I glanced at Kaspar, who nodded in agreement, getting to his feet once again. "Yes, if everyone leaves, there is a chance the soldiers may simply take what they need in terms of supplies and be on their way. With no one present to torment, they'll probably take less joy in pointless destruction."

My father looked between us and agreed. "Okay. And Kaspar, thank you for returning to warn us. We can never repay you."

"It is nothing, and in truth, I had half a mind to return anyway," he said, glancing at me before heading out the door.

We hurried from home to home, waking and alerting everyone in our small community and advising them to leave in advance of the soldiers' arrival. We soon had help spreading the word. Once everyone had been informed and their questions answered, we ran back to my house and helped pack our belongings, collecting as much as we thought we could manage to take with us. It was a long night, but by the first light of morning, my family was largely ready to leave.

As I finished wrapping together my own supplies, I turned to Kaspar and cleared my throat. "You don't need to stay. Thank you for the warning. We will always be indebted to you for it, and for helping us get ready. But don't feel like you have to stay and help. You'll be faster if you go alone, and you shouldn't risk your own safety because you feel obligated to stay."

He looked at me. "I'd like to stay. I want to help your family."

"It's going to be uncomfortable in the caves. Dull, crowded. We'll be okay, I promise. You've done more than enough. We can carry everything," I replied.

"I want to help," he insisted. "Unless, of course, you'd rather I go."

"No, it's not that."

He walked over to me, and grasped my wrist. "Then, please, let me."

I nodded, looking at the ground, unwilling to meet his eyes, the hurt I'd experienced by his departure bubbling back to the surface. "Okay," I agreed softly.

He squeezed my wrist. "Thank you," he said. "And please don't forget your stylus. It's your future; you can't leave it behind."

I looked up and accepted the tool from him. "_Todah,_" I said, tucking it into my bag.

He blinked before nodding slowly, capturing my forearm once again in his hand. "I'm so sorry that I left—"

I cut him off, unwilling to listen. It was just too much. "I'm going to help my father now. We need to leave in a few minutes," I said brusquely, picking up my things and leaving the room, not entirely sure when I would see my home again.

**~oOo~**

The next few days were busier than I imagined, holed up in the caves along the cliffs with the neighbors nearby. Amitz' children were disoriented and required attention, and normally routine matters such as preparing meals took far longer than they would have at home. And of course, Amitz' goat was with us in the cave, wandering about and bleating loudly in our faces at various intervals.

We also spent time with the others from our village who were in hiding nearby, sharing supplies and encouraging each other as necessary.

But at night, while only one or two of us remained awake to guard the entrance to the caves as a precautionary measure, I knew in my heart that while we might have been uncomfortable and inconvenienced, at least every one of us was safe from harm. And we had Kaspar to thank for it.

We could only hope that we'd find our homes and fields in the same shape as before when we returned after the soldiers passed through the empty village. The loss of our backup stores of food or our crops so close to harvest could spell disaster given the fact that winter was close at hand.

I avoided Kaspar as much as possible during that time; the closeness I'd felt to him seemed irreparably damaged by the nature of his departure. Certain that he'd leave again once the crisis was over, I felt the need to guard my feelings until he did so. His return might have saved us, but it hadn't entirely repaired my heart.

After three days in hiding, it became clear that someone needed to return to the village to see if the army had passed through. Kaspar volunteered, of course, certain he was the best to go in light of his own background. But even if I was still hurting, there was no way I could let him go alone, so in the soft light of the predawn hours, we crept down from the cliffs and cut across the hillsides together.

I felt my insides twisting as we made our way through the area where we'd spent our summer days. It seemed far longer than a week ago that I'd sat in the sun laughing the hours away with Kaspar. I tried not to dwell on it, though, considering the dangerous task at hand.

Once Kaspar and I reached the outskirts of the homes in our village, we slowed down and hid ourselves in the brush. From a distance I couldn't see any traces of soldiers, but smoke indicated that a fire had recently burned in at least one location. From there, I followed Kaspar as he crept along the few small homes and trees that could hide us from view as we neared the center of the village. We saw some damage along the way—one trampled field and another burned, some smashed pots that had probably once held grain or other supplies, a few slightly damaged buildings, and a string of grape vines cut down to their roots—but for the most part, the homes we passed had been spared from serious damage, and there were enough crops bearing precious food that still standing in the fields.

It wouldn't be the easiest winter, but we would all survive if we helped each other.

I breathed a sigh of relief before hurrying to catch up with Kaspar, who had taken refuge behind a small stable used to house animals in the winter. Right as I came up behind him, though, we both tensed in recognition that we weren't as alone as we had begun to assume.

Listening carefully, I recognized two voices speaking a language I could now identify as Kaspar's, and the sound of footsteps heading roughly in our direction. I looked at Kaspar and he wordlessly motioned toward the stable. I nodded and darted around the side of the building to reach the entrance, Kaspar at my heels.

Just as we got inside, Kaspar shoved me into the farthest stall and back up against the wall. "They're coming," he whispered. "I think they heard us. Get down!"

I tucked myself into a ball in the corner behind some straw with Kaspar beside me. We heard the footsteps draw near, the voices chattering on, but I couldn't understand more than a few words.

When the soldiers stopped in front of the entrance to the stable, I looked at Kaspar, panicked. If they found us, who knew what they'd do? We were defenseless and they'd surely recognize Kaspar's coloring and accent as one of their own. I was certain they wouldn't be kind to him either, considering his past.

As one of the men took a step inside the building, I felt Kaspar's hand brush against my own. Instinctively, I entwined my fingers between his, grasping tightly.

I held my breath and time stood still.

The soldier kicked around some straw and tapped his foot against one of the wooden stalls before he finally walked back toward the entrance of the building. I heard the other man call out, and the soldier answered back gruffly before he kicked at the door and went back outside.

When I heard the man finally exit, I exhaled slowly, listening as the voices finally passed on and the footsteps faded away. Kaspar squeezed my hand occasionally, but otherwise, we didn't move for hours.

Once night fell and we were once again under the cover of darkness, we left the small building and moved back to the edge of the village, hiding in a home far from where we'd encountered the soldiers. We found a rough blanket which we huddled under while we took turns keeping watch through the night.

"I'm sorry," he whispered at one point, reaching for my hand. "I'm sorry I left."

The hollow feeling returned to my stomach. I pulled back my hand but silently turned to him.

"I couldn't stay any longer. I couldn't continue to take advantage of your family's hospitality, and every day I stayed it seemed harder to leave. And then, after that day in the field..." he trailed off.

"Yes," I hesitated while my heart thumped in my throat. "I remember."

"I shouldn't have done that," he said. "I'm so sorry."

I started to interrupt but he cut me off. "After that, I had to leave before I became even more attached."

"You didn't have to go," I insisted. "I never wanted you to go."

"I was wrong. It was wrong to leave without speaking to you first. I didn't realize_. _And I'm sorry."

I nodded and stared off into the darkness.

"Get some sleep," I eventually replied, tugging the blanket closer. "And just...just don't ever do it again."

"I promise," he said before exhaling slowly. "Thank you."

I nodded again and settled in to keep watch as Kaspar slept beside me.

The next day we surveyed the village again and found it empty of soldiers, determining that the few stragglers must have departed the prior afternoon, so we hurried back to the caves, grateful we had only the minimal damage to report.

After everyone returned to their homes, someone from each family came by to personally thank Kaspar for his advance warning and assistance, bringing various tokens of their gratitude. He looked at me helplessly each time he tried to turn down the gifts, but found everyone to be insistent that he accept them. By the end of the day Kaspar had more food in his possession than he could possibly carry, not to mention a new wineskin, blanket, and soft leather belt.

That night, when Kaspar put his sleeping mat near the dying fire, he slid to one side, patting the space beside him as he had done the first few nights he'd stayed with us. Ignoring my own mat, I fell down beside him, smiling when he pulled his blanket over top of us both as we lay facing each other.

In the moonlight I watched him reach over and run a finger along my jaw, and there, in the shadows of the night, I took his hand in mine, clasping it tightly until exhaustion took over and I drifted off to sleep.

**~oOo~**

Though he had no real reason to do so, Kaspar accompanied me to the hillsides the next day, and no one seemed to question it.

As usual, he was fairly quiet, and I was reluctant to ask about his impending departure for fear of the answers I would certainly hear. But by early afternoon, the silence had grown heavy between us. Realizing I could use some of his advice, I explained my decision to go to a nearby city the following spring to try to make my way as a scribe, hoping he might be able to tell me a bit about what to expect.

Kaspar listened to me talk, and then gazed out at the sheep for a few minutes. "Perhaps I should accompany you. Between the languages I speak and your skills, our talents would be very valuable. We would surely do well together."

I glanced at him warily even as my heart begged for me to accept his offer. "Yes, you're probably right. But Kaspar, you've more than repaid my family now. I don't want you to do this because you feel indebted to us. You don't have to stay to help me. I'll make it, I feel certain of it. I was just hoping to get some advice from you before you left again. I'm sure you were headed somewhere important, and you've already lost a week of traveling time."

Kaspar continued to look off into the distance. "Don't you think we'd do well together?"

I pulled at some grass, studying the blades in my fingers intently. "Yes." I swallowed. "Of course I do."

"I do too," he said calmly. "I think we're really good together."

I felt the air rush out of my lungs. "Do you?"

"I do," he said simply, finally turning to me. His eyes were sparkling and the corner of his mouth quirked up in a silly grin.

"Okay," I replied, ducking my head and trying not to smile. I bit my lip. "Me too."

That's when he reached over, tilted my chin toward him, and kissed me.

**~oOo~**

Kaspar remained with us through the autumn and winter, preparing to leave with me in the spring.

For the most part, we spent our time on the hillside when the weather was warm enough, taking refuge in the nearby cave along with Zev when the winter brought its customary rainstorms.

We kept our distance around the house, but in the hills, we could be ourselves, and it was there I learned the pleasure that could be found in the lips and touches of another. I discovered the fire that burned in my stomach when he ran his hands over my body and he pressed his mouth to my throat. The way he tasted of sweat and salt when I dragged my tongue over his skin as we lay tangled in the sun. The wondrous weight of him in my hand, and later, in my mouth. And the way I could barely keep my eyes open to watch when he stroked his beautiful length beside my own because it was simply too much.

On one particularly warm day in early spring shortly before we were to leave my home, Kaspar kissed me with an unprecedented hunger and soon we fell into the long grass, our mouths locked together as we tore free our clothes and grasped at the bared flesh beneath.

Kaspar shuddered when I grasped him in my hand, stroking him lightly until he rolled me over and pinned my arms against the earth, rocking his hardness against my own as I arched against him, seeking his body with my own.

Releasing my arms, he skimmed his nails down along my chest until he finally took me into his mouth. The slick heat had me groaning as I was quickly overwhelmed by the pleasure he gave me, and soon I was releasing onto the bright red lips that continued to trace my sensitive length until I shuddered with every touch. Afterward, he pressed into me for the first time, slowly but with a sureness born of inevitability. I clung to him as he moved in me, swept up in bright blue eyes, lost in the new sensations, and nearly overwhelmed by his need. Finally, there under the brilliant sun, he reached for my hand and, grasping it tightly in his own, he cried out and emptied himself in me.

He kissed me then and I caught him in my arms as he collapsed over me, his lips and tongue meeting my own before he buried his head in my neck, panting heavily.

"You are everything I'll ever need," he whispered into my shoulder.

"And you are more than I ever imagined I could have," I murmured against the side of his head, gazing at the blue skies above. "More than I dreamed the world even had to offer."

He looked up and kissed my nose, my chin, my jaw, my eyelids, and finally my mouth. Grinning into his kisses, I wrapped him up in my arms, fully satisfied in every possible way.

A few short weeks later, we left my house and the life that I'd always known. But my family had given us many provisions. With their support at our backs and the connection we'd discovered in each other, I wasn't frightened, but eager for the journey. And when we finally set off one morning in the direction of the rising sun, we did so with our hands joined, walking bravely into a future that was wide open before us.


End file.
